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Airship Design Au Contraire

  • by Kentbut there’s a hitch
  • and its lingering afterburn
  • you and I have nothing more to say
  • said in a stern voice, “Take his skates off.”
  • minor aristocratic Prussian military family

Tune in next time part 95                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Airship design au Contraire is similar in most respects to that of the rest of the world, but there’s a hitch for towing lighter-than-air campers. In this case it was a floating boudoir wherein Fleur and I would experience fiery passion, and its lingering afterburn.

Three days into the voyage, I lay dehydrated and sticky on the helium-filled mattress in our airborne conjugal trailer. We hadn’t said a word since the first hour. Fleur announced, “You and I have nothing more to say,” and from that point all was coitus. When a soft thud sounded from the roof and our chamber listed slightly, my first delirious idea was that Tessa had used her ninja skills to mount a rescue. My rising hopes were dashed when Fleur opened the top hatch and dragged John down through it to bounce beside me on the bed. She said in a stern voice, “Take his skates off.”

John blanched, eyes darting nervously from the nude woman standing over him to my own unclothed form sprawled next to him. I groggily pawed at the laces of his roller skates, barely able to form any curiosity about them. The knots were stubborn.

“Thanks for bringing me in, you saved my life,” John stammered. “The roller rink on top of the zeppelin should probably have steeper banking in the turns, or your father will lose the whole team before we even get to the tournament. He surely doesn’t want another forfeit to that minor aristocratic Prussian military family. Their team is just a goat.”

My punch-drunk neurons got their act together for a few seconds, long enough to remember that John was likely to have information about Tessa, but not long enough to keep me from blurting out, “Where’s Tessa?” right in front of my wife.

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“Speaking of Prince Edward”

  • by jenI lost a lot of sleep
  • didn’t tell him to fire his pulse-gun
  • the young lady’s whereabouts
  • The result is awesomeness.
  • Speaking of Prince Edward

Tune in next time part 94                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Speaking of Prince Edward,” I said, in reference to Fleur’s grandfather, and trying to hide my dismay at the thought of a transoceanic voyage at this particular moment, “wouldn’t he want you to stay out of Contraria? I believe it was he who said, ‘When a Contrarian lass weds a contrarian lad and they mingle their stock, they should do so on neutral ground. The result is awesomeness.‘”

Fleur quirked her eyebrow. “You certainly have been studying, I’ll give you that. But I know you aren’t really concerned about the customs of my tribe.” She smiled coldly. “You are concerned only for Tessa. And even now, here in our marriage tent, naked with me, you are wondering about the young lady’s whereabouts. You and I may not care for each other over much, but we are married and it is imperative that I get knocked up this year. You’re coming to Contraria with me.”

She snapped her slender fingers and a hulking brute stepped into the tent with us.

“This is Viktor,” Fleur said. “I didn’t tell him to fire his pulse-gun if you try to escape, but I didn’t tell him not to either.”

I lost a lot of sleep over that comment, or I would have if Fleur and her relations ever gave me a moment’s peace. In between rounds of copulation and Contrarian Q&A, Fleur and I and all of our belongings were packed onto her father’s waiting zeppelin and we began the long flight to Contraria, a region I had never visited.

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I Explained My Proposition Bluntly

  • by KentSo a Spanish lady one time
  • only a hunter of the eider duck
  • plenty of myopic, gung-ho investors
  • out with friends
  • was a very funny man

Tune in next time part 93                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I explained my proposition bluntly, knowing Fleur didn’t have any reason to mind what I got up to with her sister. Isolde fluttered her eyelashes with a playful smile.

Fleur also smiled, but it was chilly. “So a Spanish lady one time found that her nephew was also her son’s half-brother. Shortly after that the boy was an orphan, so she adopted him. I always admired how that Spanish lady behaved.”

My doily settled onto my lap.

Isolde laughed and left the tent.

Fleur laughed as well. “You are only a hunter of the eider duck, so leave the swans alone.”

It was an old Contrarian expression, usually applied in financial contexts but apropos here as well. In the 1970s, plenty of myopic, gung-ho investors lost their fortunes on Contrarian pillow futures.

“Father’s waiting,” Fleur prompted. “He grows impatient to be out with friends, in with enemies.” Another old saying from her homeland. “I can’t wait to show you Grandfather’s mausoleum. He was a very funny man.”

She stared me down, waiting for me to realize she meant to pack me off to Contraria with her.

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With Much Effort I Kept the Revulsion From My Voice

  • by jenconfiscated her hip flask
  • a more appropriate resting place
  • If you don’t want to cry today
  • tiny bubbles from his angelic lips
  • a photograph of Harry’s mother

Tune in next time part 92                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

With much effort I kept the revulsion from my voice. “That,” I indicated the gelatinous blob, “is what the artist has dubbed a photograph of Harry’s mother. Why he calls it a photograph I don’t know, since it is clearly a sculpture.”

Isolde and Fleur were impressed at my knowledge. After last year’s embarrassments, I spent considerable time studying the minutia of Contrarian culture.

“You have stunned Harry!” Isolde cried. She indicated the referee looming over me. “See the spray of tiny bubbles from his angelic lips?”

“If you don’t want to cry today,” Harry said, “you will say something flattering about my mother’s likeness.” He cracked his riding crop on the sand beside me.

I gulped and stared at the blob on the serving tray. “There does not exist a more appropriate resting place than a bed of silver for a woman such as your mother,” I stammered. “Such opulence becomes her.”

Harry roared his laughter, then turned and carried the tray out of the tent.

Isolde pouted in a way that I had not seen since her father confiscated her hip flask at my wedding to Fleur. Clearly she loved Harry and his twisty goatee. There was no other excuse for her to consider his lips angelic. Unfortunately for her she thought she would not be free to marry until her eldest sister, my wife, delivered an heir.

Fortunately for me my studies of arcane Contrarian marital law found a loophole. The wording could be interpreted to mean that she would be marriageable as soon as any of the warlord’s daughters conceived by the eldest’s husband.

“Isolde,” I began.

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My Doily Levitated

  • by Kentthis referee with a weird little beard
  • with this hottie laying right next to you
  • first impulse was to tell her of my love
  • We should get married more often
  • one writhing, festering, pulsating blob

Tune in next time part 91                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

My doily levitated above my lap as Isolde ducked in through the tent flap. She greeted Fleur with an embrace, showing no notice of my magic trick in her honor. When my turn came for felicitations, things would surely become awkward.

I had no idea. Behind Isolde came a rotund man in traditional Contrarian riding garb, including the fluffy boa and the tufts of pink fur at the tops of his glossy green boots. The thing that made him notable, though, was his facial hair. Equestrians of Fleur’s homeland usually wear muttonchops, but his formed a corkscrew on his chin. He stood over me, this referee with a weird little beard, and said, “It could get distracting with this hottie laying right next to you, so my job is to help you focus on answering the questions.”

Isolde had by then stretched out on the ground alongside her sister, so I wasn’t sure which hottie he was referring to. I looked Fleur in the eye, and my first impulse was to tell her of my love for her sister. Faking a sneeze to cover my agitation, instead I said, “We should get married more often.”

Isolde batted her lashes at me. “Let’s begin. My pedicurist is holding an appointment for me and I can’t be late. So, I have only one question: identify this.”

From an inner pocket of her diaphanous gown, she pulled a small round box which she dumped out onto one of the silver platters. The contents slid out and landed in one writhing, festering, pulsating blob.

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The Warlord Turned to His Daughter and Said

  • by jenthat’s kind of for your gynecologist
  • looked vacantly upon the crowd
  • with the slavish tenacity of a lapdog
  • bump around awhile
  • rallied in an instant

Tune in next time part 90                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The warlord turned to his daughter and said, “Fleur, replace your doily please. My servants will be bringing refreshments in a moment and,” he waved his hand, “that’s kind of for your gynecologist.” He looked at me. “Or your husband.”

Fleur replaced her doily in her lap and only then did her father turn off the sappy music. A small parade of teenagers, male and female, dressed in traditional Contrarian garb entered the tent bearing platters of honeyed fruit and small casks of wine. Fleur looked vacantly upon the crowd of servers while they gazed at her with the slavish tenacity of a lapdog.

The warlord clapped his hands and the teens all filed out of the tent. Before following them, Fleur’s father said, “You two have a little snack, and then bump around awhile. The next Question and Answer session will be conducted by Isolde.”

Isolde! At the thought of my nubile sister-in-law, my flagging genitals rallied in an instant.

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Although My Heart Wasn’t In It

  • by KentQuick, grab the beer!
  • his hobgoblin smile
  • some names have been changed
  • That’s the whole fucking point of having a twin sister
  • you know I hate pop music

Tune in next time part 89                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Although my heart wasn’t in it, I had to commit fully to Fleur’s Contrarian customs. I yelled the first thing that came to mind, wanting to score points by speaking up before she could.

“Look! It’s a cave where we can party! Quick, grab the beer!”

“Tequila would be more appropriate, since you’ve already brought the worm!” she bellowed.

Unfazed, I retorted, “Wait, looks like some kind of vermin already lives here — I see his hobgoblin smile!”

“Believe me, there’s nothing for that poor creature to smile about,” she shot back.

The rest of our battle of slights has become part of the Contrarian Canonical Wedding Vows, although some names have been changed. The revision to the traditional reading did strengthen the treaty between Contraria and the US, or, as the president put it, “That’s the whole fucking point of having a twin sister,” leaving out the part about actually being the twin sister in question.

But we didn’t realize we were reshaping political reality, we just got lost in our duel. Eventually her father came back into the tent to make us stop, carrying a boom box with horrible, bland melodies blaring.

“I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t have to,” he said. “You know I hate pop music.”

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Fleur’s Next Question Was Easy

  • by jenargue about the size of each other’s genitals
  • planning to get married
  • they hide behind trees
  • have escaped unscathed
  • that’s the name of the game

Tune in next time part 88                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur’s next question was easy, but that’s the name of the game with Contrarian tribal customs. The women always get the easy questions, but few men have escaped unscathed from these mating rites. Fleur once told me about a splinter faction of young tribesmen who rejected all of the formal questioning and ceremonial garb. They hide behind trees and waylay anyone who looks like they are planning to get married to try to talk them out of it.

My thoughts were interrupted by Fleur’s father. He posed my final question of this round, an easy one I had no trouble answering correctly. The warlord must be anxious to move on. I wondered what he had planned.

“This is the Contrarian Year of the Monkey,” he announced. “That means it is time for you lovebirds to argue about the size of each other’s genitals. Do so loudly please, so that everyone can hear.” He exited through the tent flap with his bodyguards, leaving me alone with Fleur and her devilish grin.

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My Second Drugging In Less Than 12 Hours Brought Back Vivid Memories Of My Wedding

  • by jen“You don’t have to eat it.”
  • We’re going to make it look accidental.
  • the site of an extraordinary event
  • so soft and so elegant
  • stern, judgmental, and bossy

Tune in next time part 86                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

My second drugging in less than 12 hours brought back vivid memories of my wedding to Fleur. Her family made liberal use of narcotics and paralytics in all of their ceremonies.

You might think that the days of marriages arranged to strengthen political ties were long gone, but you would be wrong. During my mother’s second term as president she desired an ally amongst the stern, judgmental, and bossy warlords of Contraria, and so Fleur and I were forced to marry. I was assured that she would be so soft and so elegant, so unlike her father. I was lied to. Fleur was indeed elegant, but she was not soft. And while she did not resemble her father much physically, she was his protege in matters both political and temperamental.

I tried to convince Mother that my twin Jason would make a more appropriate groom, but she insisted that he had to be available to rap throughout the fortnight-long reception. And so for two long weeks the White House lawn and rose garden were the site of an extraordinary event, a bombastic celebration that resembled Burning Man more than a state wedding reception. Fleur and I exchanged our vows wearing only the floral headdresses of her people. Upon consummation of the marriage, our first Contrarian tribal question and answer session was broadcast on C-SPAN. Through the haze of drugs I overheard my mother and Fleur’s father plotting the bombing of Contraria’s eternal rival. “Don’t worry,” Mother assured the warlord. “We’re going to make it look accidental.”

Everyone knows how that worked out, of course.

And now, even after that debacle, and the sex scandal that killed my father and removed my mother from office in disgrace, I was still wed to Fleur, still subject to the violent traditions of her clan, still expected to produce an heir.

As the blowgun poison wore off I became aware again of the stuffy tent and the scratchy doily adhered to my groin. Fleur stood before me with a giant cicada pinched between two chopsticks. My punishment for getting my first question wrong.

“You don’t have to eat it.” My father-in-law fixed me with a smirk. “But the alternative is even worse.”

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Fleur’s Father Settled on the Satin Sheets

  • by KentWe’re living in the golden age
  • even without feathers
  • and now so am I
  • God I love you. You’re so pretty.
  • trembling with paralysis

Tune in next time part 85                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur’s father settled on the satin sheets between us, clipboard in hand. He smoothed the curling points of his mustache and then plucked a quill from the crest on his turban.

“True or false,” he began. “We’re living in the golden age of calligraphy.”

“False,” Fleur said confidently. Her father chortled indulgently and marked her response with an ironically elaborate symbol. Penmanship remained the most vital way for warlords of their clan to command respect, and any aspirant factional leader learned how to fashion suitable styli even without feathers for quills. Learned young.

He looked at me sternly for the next question. “You’re full of blank, and now so am I.”

I found myself unable to think of anything except the responses I should *not* say out loud, until finally I stammered, “C-cracker crumbs?”

The leathery face of my warlord-in-law leaned closer. “God I love you. You’re so pretty. But, no. That’s wrong.” One of his bodyguards raised a slender tube to his mouth and I felt the blowdart’s sting on my neck. “And as you’re fully aware, incorrect responses must not be permitted.”

I sat there, nude, with a doily on my lap, trembling with paralysis and dreading the penalty I must pay.

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